Death of the khabri

After the recent death of police informers, the khabri network appears to have gone underground. But informers say they have nothing to fear as long as they do not blow their cover. DNA’s Neeta Kolhatkar moves into the city’s shadows to find out what’s hiding in the dark

Police are also guardians
Rafiq’s neighbours think he works for the police. What they don’t know is that the the 37-year-old is actually an informer. When his friend Michael was killed by the Chhota Rajan gang, Rafiq gave up being a driving school instructor to turn informer and avenge his friend.

“I used to earn only Rs5,000 a month with tips, but I was happy. Then Michael’s death spurred me to track down his killers and hand them over to the police,” he says. He found them, after scouring local hideouts and dance bars. That was the start of a new career.

Rafiq’s breakthrough came when he tipped the cops off about a shooter called Sayed Jamaluddin alias Shendya. “Shendya had nearly 50 cases against him. For a fortnight the police asked me to tail him and I did,” he says. Eventually Rafiq spotted Shendya on the terrace of a flat, and informed the police. They moved in and picked him up.

Rafiq received considerable monetary rewards. But he knows the job is risky. A few years ago, after he helped the police hunt down and kill some Abu Salem aides, the gangster was after him. Rafiq even escaped a bid on his life in Oshiwara. “I knew Salem was after me, but that didn’t stop me,” he says.

Rafiq believes to survive in this profession, he needs to cultivate smaller gangsters who can provide him with the requisite tips. So he plays on their addiction for alcohol and bar dancers, and often takes them out.

The sixth-grade drop-out used to live with his parents and brother, but later moved out. “I don’t want to risk the lives of my elderly parents,” he says. He praises the police, but says not all of them have stood by him. “I can tell if a cop is trustworthy the way I can sniff out criminals,” he says.

Cops treat us like used condoms
Murtuza, 47, came to Mumbai 18 years ago from his village in Rampur, Uttar Pradesh. The knife-sharpener-turned-drug dealer-turned-informer, wanted to make it big in the city. He began in the narcotics trade. “Maal would come from Pakistan to Rajasthan, and then to Mumbai. The boss I worked for would then distribute it among dealers in the city,” he says. But when his boss died, Murtuza was hounded by enemies and surrendered to the Anti-Narcotics Cell (ANC).

He then tipped them off about a big consignment, and became an informer. The rewards began coming in too. “The police reward only the khabris they work with. They can often be selfish with others,” he says. From 1991, Murtuza went from giving information about the drug trade to that about gangsters. “Once I tipped off the police about a man smuggling deer skins, but they never rewarded me,” he says.

Today Murtuza has a network of khabris of his own. And, like others in the trade, has been under attack. “We all have to die eventually, so might as well die being courageous,” he says. After he got married and had three children, Murtuza became more cautious. His family knows nothing about what he does and he believes this will keep them safe. “My wife need not know what I do. So I have to be careful around my family,” he says.

The khabri, however, feels its time the police changed its outlook towards informers. “Some policemen treat us like used condoms and flush us out of their memories. They should realise we are also helping them,” says Murtuza. He has already planned his next career, should khabri work become too dangerous. “I have helped gang members get bail. I can always switch to legal work.”

Khabris can be tech-savvy too
Pappu, 32, is like the CEO of the khabri world. Although not a graduate, he is more sophisticated and tech-savvy than his peers, with a keen business sense that he uses to track information.

Mumbra-based Pappu and his brothers have been informants for a while. He is a self-proclaimed do-gooder who has helped put away 45 gangsters. In the 90s, when the eastern suburbs were in the grip of gangsters, Pappu’s family lived in Vikhroli and his elder brother faced death threats. That was when the two brothers decided to hit back. “We were targets for the underworld despite being law-abiding, tax-paying citizens,” says a defensive Pappu. The duo, with the help of locals, soon began providing information to the encounter squad.

“At that time, gangsters had killed 13 innocent traders, soil merchants and small businessmen who refused to buckle under their terror. So I decided to help get these rascals killed in encounters,” he says. “We are offered rewards from the police fund, but we don’t work for money. By the grace of Allah, we have a good business.”

He believes in the relationship the police have nurtured with him. Pappu’s own network of informers works on the principle, like that of their boss, that a criminal, no matter which community he belongs to, should be behind bars. “We do not discriminate because someone is from our community,” he says.

Pappu believes today’s crime is no different from before, except that gangsters are more plugged into technology. He and his brother believe in it too, so use their cellphones and the internet to stay ahead of the gangster pack. “If the police need informants who are good with technology, I’m certain we can help,” says Pappu.